The Infiltrators (30 page)

“Another payoff, Matt?” Then Madeleine nodded and said, “Yes, of course. Somebody had to get that LS-Project computer material out of the laboratory safe for the people who were going to pretend to find it in my safe-deposit box, instead of what was really there. And if Roy didn’t take it, and Grunewalt was two thousand miles away…”

“Right. Two little Indians from three little Indians leaves one larcenous little redskin, if you’ll excuse my racism, ma’am. Our sweet-smelling Scientific Director who didn’t want to meet us so badly.”

Madeleine said, “And the fact that Dr. Grunewalt
was
sent off to
CADRE TWO
is also significant, don’t you think? They got the only other honest man, besides Roy, out of Laboratory Beta so Johansen could operate more freely. Steal more freely, is more like it.”

“Yes,” I said, “but I think you’re overlooking the most important thing we learned in there. I think we’re on the track of what it was your husband got hold of that made it necessary for him, and you, to be eliminated.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes. I think I know what you mean, but I’ll let you say it.”

I said, “We had a long discussion back there of the fact that somebody else could have stolen Dr. Roy Ellershaw’s secret computer material but didn’t, during which it came out that he was considered a super computer whiz kid, even by his very bright colleagues, right? Which I didn’t know, although you probably did. So how about the possibility that, in exactly the same way, he could have stolen somebody else’s secret computer material and did? We heard he was so good it was unlikely that anybody could break a code he’d devised. Was he so good that he could break somebody else’s code if he got intrigued enough to try it? And if so, whose?”

Madeleine licked her lips. “You’re thinking of the Monkey House, aren’t you?” When I nodded, she said, “Roy was certainly curious about what was going on in there. He mentioned more than once that all the real scientists at the Center used to speculate about it, in a patronizing way. They had a kind of protective feeling about their
CADRE
computer,
their
computer, and they wanted to know what kind of silly, pseudo-scientific games the political and social so-called scientists were playing with it. Advanced Human Managerial Studies, for God’s sake! And the people in Alpha were apparently pretty rude to anybody they met around the place, say in the parking lot, who asked casual questions. They got quite nasty when anybody wandered too close to their sacred building. If one of them got Roy mad—he was pretty even-tempered, but he didn’t like being pushed around—he might have thought it a good joke on them to crack their protective code, or whatever you call it, and run off a hard copy of their ridiculous attempts at computerized social scientification, and hand the stuff back to them with a flourish—so much for their childish security! It would have been a challenge to him. He did love to play with that machine, if you can call it a machine, and see what it could do. And what he could do.” She cleared her throat. “Only, when he did break the access code, and saw the material that was coming up on the screen—”

When she stopped, I said, “When he started getting it out it didn’t look so ridiculous after all. In fact we can safely guess that it scared hell out of him, judging by the disturbed way you say he acted during those last weeks. So he kept probing the computer memory, digging away, gradually breaking through whatever electronic defenses they’d put up to protect their stored information; and in the meantime he got hold of Bennett, thinking that he was being a good citizen by letting the Office of Federal Security know that things were going on up Conejo Canyon that shouldn’t be.”

Madeleine said grimly, “Only that slimy Mr. Bennett saw a chance to cash in on the information, and for a price—or maybe he was already on the payroll, we still don’t know which—he let the people in Laboratory Alpha know that somebody was raiding the master computer for their stuff. But they didn’t panic; after all, they had Bennett to let them know if things were going critical. They let Roy dig away for several weeks, whenever he had computer time to spare from his real work, while they laid their plans and made their preparations. To make it look good, they even brought in a sexy Communist lady, Bella Kravecki, and had her get friendly with us: the supposed payoff woman, our contact with the enemy. When they were quite ready to strike, bingo! No more Dr. Ellershaw. And pretty soon, for all practical purposes, no more Mrs. Ellershaw either, at least not for eight long years. The Great Conejo Canyon Spy Case. Closed.”

We were entering Los Alamos now. I said, “Which brings up a question. The question.”

“Yes,” she said, “it does, doesn’t it?”

“Just what the hell
were
they doing in Lab Alpha that they had to go to such lengths to hide it? Whatever it was, we know that a few years later they got Lab Delta built larger so they could do more of it. Advanced Human Managerial Studies…”

Madeleine said, “I hate to change the subject, but we’ve got another interesting question, Matt. Blue Boy is back.” She gestured towards the rearview mirror. “That pickup truck that left us when we got into town on the way up.”

I leaned forward for a look at the right-hand mirror. “I see him.”

“Maybe I should take the back road out of here. It’s a little longer, but it’s good and wide and not perched on the side of a cliff.”

I shook my head. “Jackson said just stick to the regular route and watch for a signal; he’d see that we got through.”

“If you say so, Boss. There’s the intersection. One left turn coming up.” Presently she said, “We’ve still got company behind… My God, what’s that monster semi doing up ahead? This isn’t the truck route. Okay, he’s stopping; he must just have made the wrong turn back there.”

We were passing the little airport now, and she guided the Mazda around the big eighteen-wheeler that was just slowing down and pulling out onto the shoulder. The trailer was labeled in large letters:
INTERMOUNTAIN EXPRESS
. A couple of hundred yards ahead, parked, was a black van with psychedelic decorations involving scarlet streamlines and golden flames, a real hippie truck, if the word isn’t obsolete. As we approached, all its lights went on, and off, and on, and off again.

“There’s our boy,” I said. “Speed up and give him some space to tuck in between us and the pickup so he can take it off our backs.”

Madeleine dropped down a gear and hit the accelerator; the Mazda leaped ahead obediently, and the black van lurched into motion and cut in front of our unwanted escort, the driver of which leaned angrily on his horn. The driver of the van honked back contemptuously. I sat twisted in my seat to watch the show. It all happened very rapidly: the incensed pickup driver, perhaps thinking of the steep and winding downgrade ahead, where passing would be impossible, tried to get around while the road was still straight, and the driver of the van let him come almost abreast and then simply took him off the road and into the shallow ditch where I lost sight of them as our road turned and dipped down into the canyon.

“What happened?” Madeleine asked.

“Scratch one blue pickup,” I said. “I think we’re free and clear… Oh, Jesus!”

“What’s the matter?” Her eyes went to the mirror, and she gasped. “Oh, my God! Do you think it’s chasing us? Let’s get the hell out of here!”

Behind us, the big semi had lunged into sight. It seemed to fill the whole little mountain road as it thundered after us, gaining speed. Madeleine’s hand went to the gearshift lever; I grabbed it.

“Easy, easy!”

“But—”

“No rush, sweetheart. He looks ferocious, but there’s no way a heavy rig like that’s going to catch a sports car on this hill, so what’s the point…? Goddamn it, watch your driving!”

She cut hard right to make room for a big sedan that had appeared around the curve ahead. It whipped past, horn blaring; looking back I saw it squeeze past the oncoming truck, just barely.

“Please don’t yell at me, Matt.”

“Sorry. You watch ahead, I’ll watch behind. Slow down a little, let him get a little closer… That’s fine, hold that while we figure things out. Obviously he’s the beater.”

“Beater?”

“Sure, he’s coming through the forest stomping and yelling and beating the bushes, driving the game to the guns waiting silently up ahead. In this case, down ahead… A little faster now, don’t let him get too close. That’s it, you’re doing fine.”

“You mean they’ve got an ambush…? But what can we do? If we let him catch us, he’ll mash us flat and roll right over us, won’t he?”

I said, “Remember the scenic overlook about halfway down? We’ll try to shed him there, hoping they’ll let us get that far… Ease off a little. Don’t get too far ahead of him yet.”

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

Her face was pale and shiny and her hands gripped the steering wheel fiercely as she threw us around the curves with an occasional glance at the rearview mirror; but she was holding position ahead of the onrushing semi quite consistently now, speeding up as it gained momentum in the straights, slowing a little so as not to pull away from it in the curves the little Mazda negotiated easily while the giant rig astern had to scrub off speed in order to lurch around with its great tires screaming at the very edge of adhesion. I had to hand it to the man behind the wheel, he was handling all those tons in a very professional manner. I saw the sign ahead:
SCENIC OVERLOOK 1 MILE
.

“Ready now,” I said softly. “Remember, goose it as soon as you’re around the curve; you want room enough to brake hard. And do your heavy braking while we’re still on the pavement. The parking area itself is gravel; if you hit it too fast we’ll slide right through the Armco and off into space before you can get us stopped.”

“But I’ve got to get over to the left… What if there’s a car coming the other way?”

“Then there are going to be a lot of squashed people all over the road, including us,” I said.

“Gee, thanks loads!”

I grinned tightly. “You’ve got to learn to play the odds. If you know there’s definitely a guy behind trying to kill you, and probably some guys ahead trying to kill you, you can’t be bothered with the minor statistical possibility of meeting a stranger on a blind curve. It’s one of the lesser risks, let’s say… Okay, here we go!”

She was getting very good with her downshifts; and the Mazda leaped ahead as she accelerated through the curve, leaving our oversized pursuer out of sight for the moment. Then the parking area was coming up, ahead and on the left, and the brakes went on hard, and the semi was coming around the curve astern like a runaway locomotive, roaring down on us as we lost speed.

“Good,” I said. “Come left now… slower, slower… you’re doing fine… no, don’t worry about the fucking mirror, keep your eye on the… Ease off a little and let her roll now, tease him along, waggle your pretty tail at him…”

I guess I’m not a very nice guy. My original idea had simply been to get clear, assuming that the driver astern, knowing that he had another hard curve to negotiate with his enormous vehicle, would have to let us go—but he wasn’t letting us go. Towering over us only a couple of car lengths astern, hypnotized by the pursuit like a hound after a rabbit, he was following us over to the left as we approached the parking area. Already he was out of position, and it seemed like a hell of a fine idea…

“Now!” I said. “Hard left, downshift, and floor it the minute she hits the gravel. Spin her out!”

With the massive truck bumper almost upon us, the Mazda lunged aside. Madeleine slammed the lever across and hit the gas hard. The rear end broke loose and we were spinning and sliding across the little parking area perched on a point of rock with a spectacular view, in which nobody was interested at the moment. A top-heavy sedan or pickup might have rolled, but the low-slung sports car simply skittered sideways over the gravel like a hockey puck… And the driver of the semi, realizing his position, was trying to make a retrieve, too late. He was too far out, too far left. As he tried to come right and pull his big rig back to safety the left front tire of the tractor hit the gravel and he lost it completely and went sliding across the gravel bent clear out of shape, as the hotshot drivers say, totally out of control, with the tractor at a crazy angle to the bulky trailer. Sparks flew as the rig brought up against the steel barrier, but only for a moment. The supporting posts, never designed to resist such an impact, pulled right out of the mountainside, and the eighteen-wheeler went over the edge, taking a long ribbon of steel with it.

I became aware that, sliding broadside, we’d come to a halt well short of the barrier. Madeleine was hunched over the steering wheel with her hands covering her face. I got out and pulled my arm out of the annoying sling and went around to open her door. She let herself be helped out, and tried to cling to me.

I said, “Later. Let’s get the hell out of here before we indulge in hysterics.”

Her giggle had an uncontrolled sound. “I can’t
stand
all that mushy sympathy!”

She stumbled around the car, and I eased back the driver’s seat for my longer legs and folded myself into it. Our doors slammed shut almost simultaneously. I took us out of there fast, and back up the mountain the way we’d just come. When we topped out at the airport, the van and the pickup were still in the ditch, locked together, and the drivers were standing nearby arguing hotly. Although it seemed incredible that so little time had passed, there were no police or wreckers or ghoulish spectators on the scene yet. I made a left turn at the intersection beyond, where we’d turned right, earlier, to Conejo Canyon. A little farther on, at the next intersection, I turned westwards.

Madeleine looked up dully. “This isn’t the way to Santa Fe.”

“That’s right,” I said. “These are clever people. They set up that pickup as a decoy to take out our escort. They could have thought of setting up another ambush on the back road, just in case. But I doubt that they’ll be covering the road west across the mountains. It’s a considerable detour. We’ll have to drive clear over into the next big valley, and then almost down to Albuquerque before we can pick up the interstate and come back north, but I don’t feel like playing any more games today, and I don’t think you do, either.”